Who dreamt of becoming a president.
But the proposition, she found,
Was fundamentally unsound,
Because she was far too intelligent.
Whose main aim was life to enjoy.
She read loads of books,
Also ate with great cooks,
And constantly cried, ‘Attaboy!’
Who (tho’ maybe it’s just a furphy)
Abandoned her books,
Sun-tannéd her looks,
And launched into life as a surfie.
Then settled down to think about a tree.
And all her thoughts were very wise,
There is no doubt, as all advise.
But what she thought remains a mystery.
Who nonetheless inspires great jollity.
For though often serious,
And sometimes imperious,
She roundly embraces frivolity.
With such a bold sense of high fashion
That when she travels to Yarck,
Or even Calloway Park,
Her gear makes the locals turn ashen.
Who snares so many guid folk in her net,
Named ‘Joy/Murphy’, or some-such,
She has a deft faerie touch,
And is as bonny as any I’ve met.
Quite remote from your typical prude.
She’ll gesture with thumb
And sometimes shout ‘bum!’
But draws the line at anything lewd.
As tank painter, tastefully splendiferous.
As dancer, she’s stunning;
As poet, she’s budding;
And as diner, savagely carnivorous
As She Does
Whirling, twirling all day long,
As she does,
Joy is like a buzzing bee.
Bursting, warbling into song,
As she does,
Like a bird that’s so carefree.
Reading, thinking, oh, so strong,
As she does,
Still and calm, just like a tree.
Seen when sleeping all night long,
As she does,
Like a cherub seems to me.
An Astonishing Event
From Joy, tonight,
At our dining,
I heard words I
Never ever
Thought of hearing;
Beheld a sight
I had never
Dreamed of seeing,
In all my days.
The astounding
Words were just three:
‘I am stonkered!’
The startling sight?
A bowl of cream
And chocolate
Delight firmly
Propelled away
From rosy lips.
A hush fell o’er
The festive board,
As if all heard
A jarring chord.
For it meant a
‘Dessert corner,’
Celebrated,
Had finally
Been full sated!
Limericks for Older Grandchildren
Who has the entire world on her plate.
At Harvard, she flies high.
In Delhi, she gets by
With acclaim, because her Hindi’s first-rate.
Who is famed for his love of italics.
He writes footnotes galore,
Subtle words even more,
And deplores academic smart-alecks.
Limerick for the Fourth Grandchild
2015
Freshly arrived is wee Nicholas,
With ways that constantly tickle us.
When he smiles at his Lala,
We all go slightly gaga
Which, really, is rather ridic’lous!
The One-Grand Limerick
(1993-2015)
2015
Number One of Three Peaks Reports,
Was just a few family thoughts.
’Twas in no way foreseen,
Nor an ambitious dream,
’Twould creep up to one and three noughts!
2009
Catherine, shiny new graduette,
Is a student of rights under threat.
A UN believer,
She’s off to Geneva
As a keen-eyed, inquiring cadet.
Limericks in Praise
of
Two Beloved Ls
2019
Say, who has not heard of the Leitha?
Her renown has o’erspread the ether.
She delights in Dante
And dwells in Chianti,
Which means now Milano’s beneath her.
Astounding is the Liv phenomenon,
Requiring a neat prolegomenon
That illuminates her reading,
Her devotion to fine feeding,
And explains the state of her noumenon.
42
There once was an old man of Yea
Who wasted his time in a way.
For the lady he loved,
Slyly shuffled and shoved,
Then dumped him quite late in the day!
43
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who dreamed of being whisked away
To lands of honey and milk
Where pretty maidens in silk
Served cream buns and whisky all day.
44
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who sought out the Devil to pay
For several vices
(At various prices)
To make Heaven with no delay.
45
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who stepped in a puddle one day.
He bought some galoshes:
Now happily sloshes
Through each and all puddles in play.
46
There once was an old man of Yea,
Whose joy was to tumble in hay
Until, like a gawk,
A long-lost pitchfork
He found in the most painful way.
47
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who had his prim daughter to stay.
She straightened him out,
Without any doubt,
By pouring his whisky away.
48
There once was an old man of Yea
Who could dance the whole night away;
But he wasn’t a worker,
Just a dead lazy shirker
Who slept for the rest of the day.
49
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who painted everything grey,
When told it was dreary,
Was perfectly cheery:
‘But it’s so much cheaper this way!’
50
There once was an old man of Yea
Exceeding polite in his way.
He said, ‘What's the harm
In dispensing some charm
In a world so often distrait?’
51
There once was an old man of Yea
Who relished curds more than whey.
But then at the crunch,
When it came to lunch,
He preferred fine wines anyway.
52
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who ate mashed potatoes all day.
Of course, he grew fatter,
But muttered, “No matter,
I prefer large to lithe anyway.”
53
There once was an old man of Yea,
Whose sole pleasure was pointless play.
He’d start with a grin,
Then just hallway in,
Say, ‘I’m bored, let’s try a new way!’
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who was always happy and gay.
He danced in sunlight,
Sang in the moonlight,
And otherwise chortled all day.
61
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who loved games involving word-play.
Though, when playing scrabble,
He’d dither and dabble
To avoid a loathsome cliché.
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who yearned to become an abbé.
But his French was quite poor,
Made him sound like a boor -
For he even mangled ‘Marseilles’!
63
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who despised all vulgar display.
He was so refined,
He made up his mind
To present as ever blasé.
64
There once was an old man of Yea
Who wanted to go to Bombay.
He scrimped and he sold,
And dabbled in gold,
But still lacked the money to pay.
65
There once was an old man of Yea
Who considered Heaven each day.
Most times he admired,
But sometimes inquired:
‘Shouldn’t God get out of the way?’
66
There once was an old man of Yea,
Stingy in a weird kind of way
He scrounged loaves of bread,
Hoarded red cotton thread,
Yet gave half his wages away.
67
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who felt a need each day to pray
To some god or other -
Only to discover
Not one of their gifts came his way.
68
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who always said nothing but ‘Eh?’
Urging him to say more
Didn’t alter the score:
Since he simply changed to a ‘Hey!’
69
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who purchased a pair of pince-nez
(Planning to sneak glances
At young things in dances)
But lost them before he could stray.
70
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who yearned for great dragons to slay.
But though such a romantic
He was oddly pedantic,
Insisting on rules of fair play.
71
There once was an old man of Yea,
Whose cattle were always dark grey.
When told they looked drab,
He replied: ‘That’s too bad!
“I happen to like them that way.’
72
There once was an old man of Yea
Who thought golf the one game to play
He would address the ball
Like an old friend at call
But, on missing, give it a spray.
73
There once was an old man of Yea
Who tried to jump higher each day.
But the more he tried,
The more he got tired,
And fell on his face anyway!
74
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who wore a bright purple beret.
When asked, ‘Why that colour?’
Replied, ‘A wise mullah
Claimed it would enhance my toupee.’
75
There once was an old man of Yea
Who pooh-poohed computers as ‘play’.
But then changed his mind
When startled to find
The ‘net’ was the source of his pay.
76
There once was an old man of Yea
Who pranced madly throughout the day.
When asked ‘What’s the matter?’
He’d snarl about ‘chatter’
And bellow, ‘Get out of my way!’.
77
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who always got hungry at play.
He tried a hamburger
Followed by Limburger,
Then settled for salmon pâté.
78
There once was an old man of Yea
Who fell over sometimes in play.
Getting up from the floor
He’d say, ‘Just one more,
And I might give this whole game away.’
79
There once was an old man of Yea,
A really cool dude in his way,
Enjoyed technology,
Also biology,
But liked best a bit of foreplay.
80
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who set off to run far away.
But on reaching Seymour,
Thought “Goddamn, what a bore,
Life’s so much more feisty in Yea!”
81
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who dreamed of travelling one day
To some warm foreign strand,
Lying down on the sand,
And have the sea wash him away.
82
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who claimed to know God’s wily way.
But then got things wrong,
Was chased by a throng,
And perished by auto-da-fé.
83
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who yearned to loll every day
(Like gossamer floating
When languidly boating)
But work always got in the way.
110
There once was an old man of Yea,
A bully, and prone to inveigh
Against lesser folk
If they sought to invoke
Ideas he thought were astray.
111
There once was an old man of Yea,
Whose speech was replete with cliché.
He’d say, 'Jolly good!’
Or, ‘You’re right on the wood!’
A dozen times ev’ry damn day!
112
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who loved eating dismembered cray.
But he seemed to abhor
Any piece of the claw,
Always hurling that bit away.
113
There once was an old man of Yea
Who wanted to act in a play.
He said, quick as can be,
‘It’s old Shakespeare for me,
As long as I get to play gay!’
114
There once was an old man of Yea
Who relished the scent of sea-spray.
Got more than enough,
While once in a huff,
When he tripped and fell in the bay!
115
There once was an old man of Yea
Who tried long and hard to convey
His distaste for crudeness,
But lapsed into rudeness,
When told that he should go away.
116
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who fancied a fine fresh soufflé,
But got a cold pikelet
(And found he disliked it)
’Cos the chef had left for the day.
117
There once was an old man of Yea,
So proud of his dental display.
He brushed his teeth daily,
Tried painting them palely,
And denied all signs of decay.
118
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who pondered a lot on Calais.
Didn’t know where it was,
But adored it because
It rhymed so precise with ‘ballet’.
119
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who treated funerals as play.
Some thought him a nutter
When they heard him mutter,
‘Oh joy! One more corpse for today!
120
There once was an old man of Yea
Who boasted a certain cachet.
It won him priv’lege
Down in the village,
But none whatever on Broadway.
121
There once was an old man of Yea,
Sans passion or pity by day,
Who each night became
A soppy old dame
In sly games that he chose to play.
122
There once was an old man of Yea
Concerned about things to pre-pay.
Thought of a coffin
(Sometimes quite often)
But preferred each time to delay.
123
There once was an old man of Yea
Who yearned to climb a névé
But discovered that ice
Was not at all nice
When slithered on, even in play.
124
There once was an old man of Yea
Who boasted an artistic trait.
He danced, oh, so lightly,
And sang, oh, so brightly -
But lost steps and words by half-way!
125
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who spoke proud of ‘bonny Galway’.
But when asked for more fact,
Said, ‘I can’t give you that:
I’ve told all that I’m paid to say!’
126
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who sat in the hot sun each day.
He got badly fried,
And once almost died,
But claimed he was strengthened that way.
127
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who kept a car in his drive-way.
He never drove it,
Or tried to move it,
Just left it on showy display.
128
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who admired old-fashioned sword play,
Though blood made him shudder
And think of his mother -
Which upset him more in a way.
129
There once was an old man of Yea,
Cheery at the start of each day,
But teary by lunch-time,
And weeping by tea-time,
Because of his sins on the way!
130
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who was just a teensy bit fey.
A tap-dancer by trade,
He would sometimes parade
And claim to be doing ballet.
131
There once was an old man of Yea
Who wanted a head on a tray.
Just whose head it was
Didn’t matter because,
“It’s only a game”, he would say.
132
There once was an old man of Yea,
With a mind in some disarray,
Who falsely spread rumours
Of unpleasant tumours
That occasioned public dismay.
133
There once was an old man of Yea,
Who owned a small run-down café,
Served just coffee and hash,
Only ever for cash,
And had room for cardsharps to play.
134 There once was an old man of Yea, Who claimed he had no time for play. But when the lights went out, There was some room for doubt: For his giggling gave him away!135There once was an old man of Yea, Who spoke well enough in his day, But sometimes would stutter When seeking to utter Tidings that engendered dismay.136 There once was an old man of Yea, Who appeared a little distrait. When asked, ‘What’s the matter?’ He went all a-chatter: ‘I think I’ve just bought a bidet!’137 There once was an old man of Yea, Who asked for more time to pray For the homeless and poor Who crowded his door – Hoping they'd then go away!138 There once was an old man of Yea Who yearned in a top band to play, But couldn’t find any To agree that a penny Tin whistle was worthy of pay.
139
There once was an old man of Yea,
Short-sighted, wondered what he’d weigh.
So he bought a machine
That was tidy and clean -
But then couldn’t read the display!
140
There once was an old man of Yea,
Obsessed with the beauty of hay.
His stacks they did soar,
Gold pillars of straw,
Fit wonders for public display.
141
There once was an old man of Yea
Who “tripped” on the perfume of hay.
He’d swoon in the paddock,
Or dream on a hillock,
Whenever a whiff came his way.
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